Tales of the Forgotten: The Keeper
by Cow-of-Doom
Summary: Wow, ten pages long... I really like this one... Laslæa, Keeper of the Forgotten, shows a day in her terrible life...


Tales of the   
Forgotten:  
The Keeper  
_by supergirl309_   


  
_There is a numbing pain pounding the back of my head,  
In the pit of my stomach grows an icy sense of dread,  
Beneath the thinly woven blankets, my legs feel like lead,  
And though I wrack my brain, I can't remember what was said,  
When They discussed my future and made me think   
That I would so much better off,  
That my pains would be no longer   
If it came to pass that I was dead.  
But unlucky as I am, I can only wonder what trials may await me  
When I get out of bed.  
  
_~~~~~~  
  
**The Keeper  
**

  
Fate must hate me. When I came to this world of Neopia as a tiny white Lupess, and when I was taken in by Erria, the Ice Mage I'd no idea what trials were in store for me.   
  
Though she says it was out of kindness and good will, I think the real reason Erria picked me up was because of the Mark. The Mark is a strange ruinic symbol burned into the skin on my jaw. When Erria saw me, her knowledge of magic and other worlds must have brought her to the immediate realization that I was not of Neopia.  
  
So, Erria took me underground, to the great caves and catacombs filled with scrolls and tomes and old volumes containing all the legends, myths, tales, and secrets if this world of Neopia, and of worlds I know little of.   
  
Several months prior to her finding me, Erria heard talk that the Keeper, the soul bound to the underground spirits to collect and keep track of the Forgotten Legends of Neopia had passed away. She could scarce bring herself to believe it... until of course, she saw my lying in the tall grasses on the side of the road. Or rather, until she saw the Mark.  
  
Erria knew I was going to be the new Keeper of the Forgotten, that is why she took me to the underground, knowing there had to be something good in it for her. True to her hopes, the mage who ruled the underground caves, reluctant as he was, increased Erria's magical power and status.   
  
I expect Erria might have left me in the grass had she not thought there would be a reward for her. Even though I say most of this out of bitterness toward Erria because I still blame her for putting me in my position, she is truly a greedy, power-hungry person who would readily use her powers toward the demise of this world if it meant she could have more power.   
  
So, to this day I am forced to stay underground with the old dusty scrolls and tomes. Though I keep so many records and legends of Neopia, I have never been outside. Only from old faded sketches do I know what other species of Neopets look like. Though the records are open to all, the only ones who ever come down here are magicians (both human and Neopet) and Faeries. I wish I knew more about the world around me. Kauvara comes down sometimes and, taking pity on me, stays longer to tell me about the world above. She is the only pet I've ever really talked to, and it seemed like it would continue on like this forever.  
  
But sometimes, things change.  
  


~~~~~~  
  


It was winter--that much I knew. Though the scratchy sheets of my bed were smothering and uncomfortable, I didn't want to take them off because of the cold. It should've been warmer because we were underground, but Erria--the fool--cast a spell on this cursed place so it would seem more like the world above. Through a hole in the ragged blanket I glimpsed several soft, white flakes of snow fluttering to the ground. My white fur should have been able to keep me warm enough even in the altered environment, but it was as worn and useless as the blanket covering me.  
  
I pulled the ratty sheet around me closer, but the icy bite of the cold still seeped through. I shivered and rolled over, hugging the corner of the blanket to my chest.   
  
Crou's thin voice met my ears. It sounded far-away and fading, but that was how the wizard always sounded. Besides, he obviously speaking to me through my the stone of my bedroom door. he called again. Get up and get down here! You've slept in again, lazy!  
  
Snarling and grumbling, I tugged the blanket up over my ears. Crou always called me lazy, whether I was late, on time, or early. I couldn't stand it.   
  
C'mon, Las! he whined. You need to get to the desk!  
  
I threw the blanket off, exposing myself to the bitter, stinging cold. Soft flakes of snow began gathering on my grey-white fur. Oh shut up Crou! I yelled at the door, which stood only slightly ajar. It's too cold! Why don't you stand by the stupid desk today! The words meant nothing, I would have to stand at the desk waiting for people no matter what.   
  
I heard a low, tired sigh as Crou pushed the door open. It grated and scraped against the ice-cold stone floor, setting my teeth on edge and sending an annoying chill up my spine.   
  
Crou's weary face appeared in the doorway. Las, please hurry up! he said, face pulled down with fatigue.   
  
Crou is really quite young--twenty-six, I believe--though he looks tired and burdened beyond his years. His once-dark hair is streaked with strands of faded, silvery gray. Some of the longer, chin length strands framing his face have faded to a snowy white. I know what does it to him--it is being here in this place. It does it to me as well--wears me down and ages me. Neither of us really know what the full extent of our jobs are. We keep not only the tales of the Forgotten, but, in order to prevent them from being forever lost, we must somehow keep their very spirits and souls.   
  
Crou sometimes seems so pitiful and tired that I can barely stand it. He always has a pleading look in his eyes, which--in a complete contrast to the rest of his face--are striking, penetrating green, flecked with bits of steely gray.   
  
But Crou is the only one I have down here. He is to me what an owner is to a pet. But I'm more than a pet, and he is more--or less, I sometimes think--than a human.   
  
I sighed and wrapped the thin blanket around my shoulders. I said, subdued, I'm coming.   
  
Crou sighed and nodded his sad, tired nod, walking briskly out the door.  
  
I lowered myself off the bed and walked to the doorway, claws clicking and scratching on the stone floor. Before exiting the room, I removed the torch--barely glowing, and only slightly warm--from its slot in the wall and blew gingerly on it, trying to stir the flames. The glowing flames grew a bit, and the torch began to feel warmer. Not bothering to take the time of pushing the heavy stone-slab door shut, I walked out of the room and down the packed dirt stairs.  
  
Crou was wearing the old black cloak he wears every day. It is worn and threadbare from so many years of use. Draped loosely about his shoulders was a teal scarf. It was made of thick wool and looked to be the only warm thing on him. I could see the knitting from my spot halfway down the steps.  
  
He sat at the rough wooden table in front of the fire. He was holding a mug of black coffee, bringing it gingerly to his lips. He heard my claws hit the cold stone floor at the bottom of the steps and set his coffee down on the table, turning to face me.   
  
I placed the torch in the empty slot on the wall near the stairs. Crou picked up his mug and began to sip at it again. Paws empty, I trotted over to the table and perched myself on the stone bench pushed against it.   
  
What do you want for breakfast? Crou asked, setting his coffee mug down again.  
  
I shrugged. Dunno. What do we have?  
  
He guestered toward the fire. I'm making soup, he said. And there's some oatmeal in the cupboard. If you want that though, you'll have to wait till the soup's done to cook it.  
  
I licked my chops in a dog-like manner. I'll have some of that soup, definitely! As if I wanted to wait around for a turn to cook a bowl of gummy, lumpy oatmeal. Though soup sounded like an odd breakfast food, it was warm, and warmth was greatly needed in this cold place.  
  
I sighed and began drumming my claws on the table-top. About five minutes were spent in silence, until I said impatiently, C'mon, Crou! Can't you hurry it up with your magic?  
  
Crou sighed heavily and that tired sad look appeared in his eyes. I don't have any of my strength to spare for stupid things, Las, you know that, he said softly. I need my magic for whatever I'm going to have to do today.  
  
Yeah... right, I muttered. I knew that Crou's magic should have been quite strong--stronger than Erria's. But his job, and being here weighed down on him so that he was so weary that his magic became limited. If he'd had the strength, I'm sure he would have removed Erria's idiotic weather charm ages ago.   
  
Ten minutes later, the soup was done. Crou removed the metal pot from its hook above the flames, setting it down carefully on a raised chunk of rock near the table. He exited the room and came back shortly with two earthenware bowls. He put one in front of me and placed the other before his own seat. Then, he carefully ladled soup into my bowl till it was filled to the brim. Then, he poured himself some and blew one it before starting to eat.  
  
I took a spoon from the cupboard above the fireplace and dug in. It was vegetable soup. I found carrots, peas, potatoes, some corn and soggy leeks. I avoided the leaks as I ate, scooping them out quietly when I was finished and tossing them into the fire. Crou sighed and put his own spoon down.   
  
I heard a grating sound coming from the front of the caves. I sighed and stood up. I'll be going now, I said. Can you clean my bowl for me?  
  
Crou nodded. Sure. When I finish I'll be in the back by the healers' accounts, he said.  
  
I shrugged and walked off wearily to the front of the cave where I took a seat at the front desk.  
  
The person who had grated the door open was Illusen. I blinked, surprised she was here. What are you here for? I asked.  
  
The Earth Faerie smiled, but I could tell she was tense and serious. I want to see the Forgotten, she said.  
  
I looked back at the myriad of shelves of scrolls, tomes, and volumes. It looked dim and lightless. I shuddered slightly, then stood. Come this way, I said, trotting slowly off toward the back of the caves.   
  
Illusen followed me at a few feet, staring with interest at the shelves overflowing with dusty torn parchments. I stopped. What exactly do you want to look at? I asked, turning toward the Earth Faerie.  
  
She bit her lip uncertainly. Well... Fyora sent me, actually. There should be a tale in there about a very famous assassin who was alive in Ancient Neopia. But, obviously she isn't famous anymore, since she's among the Forgotten. I want to see the tale about the one and only time she failed a job--that was what lost her her fame and led to her eventually becoming Forgotten.  
  
I nodded slowly. An assassin... I peered around the shelves, at another corridor. This way, I said, padding forward on the cold clay.  
  
Illusen walked several paces behind me, still staring in awe at the shelves upon shelves of old scrolls. She started to shiver. Is it always this cold down here? she queried.  
  
I said bitterly. Don't remind me.  
  
As we walked down a particularly un-used aisle, the dust around us stirred and swept up into tiny clouds and whirls. An old, musty smell filled the air, and there was a strange feeling all around us.  
  
I glanced back at Illusen, who looked quite nervous. There's something really odd about this place, she said with a shudder. When we find that scroll can we take it back to the front to read it?  
  
I shrugged. If you like, but don't worry about the weird feeling. It's just the spirits of the Forgotten shifting--they can sense we're coming.  
  
Illusen looked thoroughly unsettled, but continued on behind me none the less, though it was apparent that her awe of the Forgotten had been replaced by fear and unease.  
  
I moved closer to the shelves and began walking more slowly, running my worn paw along the edges of the shelves, paying close attention to the strangely-coded organisational system. After around ten minutes of skimming in that manner, my careful attention paid off when I stumbled upon several tales of assassins from the Ancient Neopian period.  
  
I plucked several of them from the shelf and dumped them into Illusen's arm. She blinked in surprise and stared down warily at the faded and tattered scrolls that now rested in her hands.  
  
she blundered.  
  
Skim through them, I prompted. You probably can't read them, but you'll be able to see snatches of sentances, words, names, etcetera.   
  
She smiled, looking at me like I was an ignorant pup. I detested that look fully. I can read Ancient Neopian, Laslæa, she said, still smiling. I think I'll manage.  
  
I shrugged nonchalantly. Have it your way, I muttered, almost gleefully resigned to let her figure out the ways of the Forgotten.  
  
For several minutes, Illusen stared at the top of the scroll, eyes screwed up as if she was nearsighted and had forgotten her glasses. She moved the parchement close to her face, then far away. Then, she shuddered and let the scroll drop to the ground.   
  
I-- it's like the words-- it-- I can't read it... I mean... she stopped for a moment and shook her head blankly. It's like it... it doesn't want me to read it. She was still shaking her head. But I can read some of it... bits of sentances, phrases, words... but...  
  
She lowered her gaze until her eyes met mine. Is that what--?   
  
I picked the scroll up and peered at the first paragraph. Then I shifted my gaze to Illusen's bewildered face. I told you you wouldn't be able to read, I said shortly.  
  
The Earth Faerie's face momentarily tinged pink. I had to surpress a grin. Can you...? she muttered.  
  
I glanced back at the weathered parchement. Of course. I am the Keeper.  
  
Illusen sighed. Of course, she muttered, sounding faintly apolagetic. How stupid of me. She picked up the scroll again, hands shaking slightly. After skimming through the long tale, she handed it to me. This is what I was looking for. Can you take it up front to read?  
  
I nodded. If you like.  
  
So, we walked back up to the front of the cave, me padding along at a purposefuly slow pace, Illusen looking as if she desperately wished for me to go faster. The Forgotten spirits were awakening.  
  
Illusen was only too glad when we reached the front desk. I set the scroll down on the desk and began unrolling it. It was so long it trailed off the desk and onto the floor for several feet.   
  
Illusen pointed to a paragraph near the end of the scroll. Read there, she demanded.  
  
It was written in deep blue ink, and full of misspellings, cross-outs, and blots-- some small, some so large I could barely read the words-- and it was written in Ancient Neopian. Translated, it read:  
  
  
_As the moon rose higher into the dark blue sky, I made my way toward the great stone strukcher. Stras Stars pricked the sky like jewls. The sand-- usually ht hot during the day was cool and soft under my feet. My long, wiplike ears flapped out from under the black cloth wrapping. I glimpssed a bit of bright read disapereing behind the piramid pyramid. I took a sharp breath and almost choked. I was about to encounter my touffest hardest most challenging target ever.  
  
I slowly crept around the side of the pyramid, black clothes keeping me safely hidden. As I rownded the great corner of the pyramid I glimpsed her for the first time-- clad in a black tunic and a gorgus read cape. Magnificent black wings jutted out from the sides of the cape. She turned her head slightly, and I ducked back behind the pyramid. I shuderred as I pulled out my blowgun and darts. Caerfully, I diped dipped the tip of one of the darts into the small vile of poysen in my belt, then I loaded the dart into the blowgun.  
  
As I turned around the corner again, I felt mixed feelings of feer and regret. I would hate killing her... if I could. I aimed caerfully at her exposed back, then let the dart fly.  
  
The feathered bit of wood flew through the air, and I baerly breathed. But just as the dart was about to peirce her skin, she turned and it simply went through her cape, pining it to the ground.  
  
She knew. I quickly drew a dagger and raced forward, but before I'd even reached her, she'd taken off, a bit of satiny read fabrik pinned to the sand by my dart.  
  
_I let the parchement slip from my paws and spring back into a coil. I lifted my head and surveyed Illusen.  
  
The Earth Faerie was staring fixedly at the scroll on the desk, biting her lip and looking a bit distant. She shuddered and brought herself back to the present, and bent over to pick up the scroll. She held near her chest and pointed at the door. Can I--?  
  
I shook my head. It'll vanish as soon as you walk out of here.  
  
She set it back down on the desk, muttering, Well then, thank you... She trailed off and walked away out the door.   
  
Sighing, I picked up the scroll, wanting to see the rest of it, but as soon as I touched it, it vanished in a tiny puff of red smoke. The spirits had a mind of their own....  
  
**The End**_  
  
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End file.
